Crossroads of Canopy (Titan's Forest #1)(110)

Edax.

Imerissiremi’s eyes glittered with excitement.

Unar heard weeping and lifted her head, blinking in the firelight. She’d been pulled out of her recess and into Bernreb’s bunk, the lowest one; at least, it smelled like him. She imagined she didn’t smell particularly pleasant herself. Her nostrils flared, perhaps expecting to find the smell of Edax’s broiled flesh, or Frog’s violated innards.

She’d thought time would heal her, but it seemed to her as if no time had passed.

“Is that what Ylly says?” she wondered. She looked into Audblayin’s eyes again. “Have you had a good childhood, Holy One?”

Audblayin’s smile was very kind.

“I have. I had more time, I think, because I’m down here. It’s been very different from my usual style of childhood. Enlightening, you might say.”

“You told them you were a goddess?”

“Only a few hours ago. I’ve been myself, properly, for a week, I think. The memories came slowly. I had to wait, to be sure. To remember everything that happened with you and Kirrik.”

“How could you remember that? You were a babe in the House of Epatut.”

“I remember everything that is done with my power. Every spell. Every new life. Every person the gift passes through. What you, Frog, and Kirrik used was my power, Unar.”

Unar’s hands, which had lain quiescent under the girl’s slender fingers, now seized Audblayin’s wrists, grinding them, before she could remember not to lay hands on a goddess.

“Do you mean to say that you could have stopped it?”

“Not at all. I was as helpless as you were at your worst, when you felled the great Temple of Airak. Let go of me.”

Unar let go. “Forgive me, Holy One. Please. I have a question for you, if you care to answer it. Long ago, when you took power from the Old Gods, why did you and the others fashion a barrier that would allow Canopians through, but not Understorians or Floorians?”

Audblayin’s large, dark eyes grew solemn.

“There are things I cannot share with you,” she said, “but trust this to be true. The barrier must stay the way that it was made until the Old Gods are forgotten.”

“That can’t be the answer, that you are afraid of the resurrection of the Old Gods,” Unar said, despairing. “Couldn’t you just make people forget?”

“No. To change people’s minds, to force them to forget, is to cut off their arms and legs. It is to cripple them. The barrier was my idea. I am the Waker of Senses, not the diminisher of thought. The death god, Atwith, suggested that those of Understorey and Floor who remembered the old ways should simply be killed. I opposed him.”

“But, Holy One. Now you’ve seen what it’s like to live down here. In the dark. Do Understorian children deserve to fall to their death because Odel isn’t here to protect them? Must Marram risk his life in the monsoon because there are no safe roads between villages, no defences against demons? Couldn’t he be allowed through the barrier, even to trade? Wouldn’t he be grateful to the new gods then, and more inclined to uphold your rule?”

“The barrier isn’t intended to be cruel to Understorians, Unar. It’s to protect Canopians, whose tribute gives us the strength to defend them. Unfortunately, the two peoples must remain apart. If the barrier were open for folk to freely trade, ideas would be exchanged as freely. Ideas that must be left in the dark to die out. Canopy could be contaminated. The risk is unacceptable.”

“But owning humans is acceptable?” Unar burst out angrily.

Audblayin smiled and shook her head.

“That’s something that may be changed. In my own niche, at least.”

Unar looked around, at last absorbing the tear-tracked faces of Ylly, Sawas, and Oos. Ylly’s hair was white, and her cheeks age-spotted. Sawas was even rounder, with crow’s feet at the corners of her eyes. Oos had lines on her neck and pouches under her eyes which hadn’t been there before, but her weak, endearing, watery smile was the same.

“You’ve said your good-byes, here,” Unar surmised. “That’s why everyone’s crying. You’re ready to see the sun in a place where your own mother can never walk free.”

“So much bitterness, Unar.”

“I saved you,” Unar said, pleading. “I saved you. Can’t you force the Garden to let me in?”

“No.”

Unar put her face in her hands.

“Maybe it would be better if you went without me.”

“I don’t think so. Aoun is waiting for you.”

“For me?” Unar barked a laugh. “Aoun loves the Garden.”

“He loves the Garden,” Audblayin agreed. “But he hasn’t changed the key.”

I will not cry. Unar disguised her sorrow with rage. “So he hasn’t changed the key. So what? It will never turn for me!”

Audblayin’s smile deepened.

“No. I don’t suppose it ever will. But he gave it to you, and he hasn’t taken it back. It means something to him. A bargain. A promise. He’s very powerful now. I am the living goddess Audblayin, and I can’t force the Garden to let you in. But the Gatekeeper could, if he were ever to choose you over me.”

Unar took a deep, shuddering breath.